


Feather

by Trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, F/M, I dunno man I just love wing fics, M/M, Wing Kink, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wakes up with wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feather

"Wings?" Sam says. He sticks his face into the gap in the bathroom door and tries to see into the room. 

Dean sighs, exasperated. "Yes. Wings. Look, are you going to at least let me show you before you have me committed?"

"Fine."

"Fine." Dean yanks the door all the way open with no warning, and finds himself with his arms full of Sam whose gaze travels quickly from his face to the wings.

"Wings." He says, his eyes flitting from side to side. "Huh. I always thought they'd be black."

"You always -" Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's what you're taking away from this?"

"Well. Yeah. I mean. They're pretty and all, and they suit you. I just figured they would be black. Seems...more likely than white."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Dude. I can so have white wings if I want to."

"Hey, I'm not debating that," Sam says, hands held up. "It's just..."

"Can we please stop talking about my-" Dean waves a hand vaguely over his shoulder, "plumage? And please talk about a solution for this?"

"Can I touch them?" Sam asks. He steps behind Dean without waiting for an answer, running his hands through the feathers. 

A violent shiver runs the length of Dean's spine and he keens softly. Sam pulls his hand away as if burned but Dean reaches behind him and grabs it, guiding it back. "Don't stop," he says, "keep going."

Dean rides him later, wings spread out behind him. The sun is setting and the orange light filtering through the dirty motel window makes the feathers look like they're aflame. 

Sam tells him as much. "Like Icarus, you know?"

When Dean comes it feels like falling. 

***

Problem the first; Dean's wings won't fit in the impala. 

Problem the second; people have eyes. 

As Dean trudges miserably back to the motel room to thoroughly sulk, the manager runs across the parking lot with his arms outspread. Before Dean can react he finds himself wrapped in a tight embrace. 

"Ah, Jehovah," the man chants over and over. "Ah, he has sent his angels before him. Tell me, where is your master?"

Dean peels himself from the man's arms and steps back, unable to school his expression into submission quickly enough. The man takes in his displeasure and falls to his knees in the dirt. 

"Forgive me," he says, taking one of Dean's hands in his. "Forgive me. I didn't mean any offence. What can I do? Tell me."

Sam and Dean exchange a bemused look before Dean clears his throat. "Can we have the room for another week?"

The manager, on his knees, says, "yes, yes. Anything."

***

Sam paces the room with his cellphone jammed between his ear and his shoulder, an open book in his hands. "No, Bobby, I checked. Yeah, no hex bags. What? He's not pissed anybody off more then usual."

Dean lies face down on the bed, wings spread around him. They're warm, too warm, and he groans. "Gonna fuckin' hack them off already."

"No you fucking won't. What? Sorry, Bobby. No. Well, I'm looking up fairy lore now."

"Fuckin' fairies," Dean mumbles into his pillow. 

Once Sam is off the phone he sits down beside him on the bed and strokes his sweat-damp hair. "Can't you think of anything? Anyone?"

Dean can. A girl with hair black like tar, an ankh on a shoelace round her neck. He's used his cheesiest line, about how it musta hurt when she fell from heaven. She'd snorted and said she was into vampires, but Dean knew better than to take her seriously. Instead, he fucked her against a wall behind the bar. 

Afterwards, she pressed a scrap of paper into his hand. "Call me," she said. Dean had crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped it in the trash can on the corner. 

None of this is particularly shocking, until he realises this may have been the one chick he should have called. He closes his eyes and groans.

Sam says, "What'd you do?" Then, "Or rather who did you do?"

***

Trying to find her is impossible, mostly because Dean's description of her fits a bunch of people in the bar and because he can't look for her himself because, you know, wings. 

When Sam returns he finds Dean sitting by the motel pool, soaked and shivering. He hurries over and drapes his jacket over Dean's chest. "What the fuck?"

"Tried to fly, Sammy," Dean says. "Fell into the pool instead."

"Jesus, Dean, you're freezing. Come on, let's go back inside."

Dean shakes his head, glad it's dark and Sam will most likely mistake the tears on his face for pool water. "Wanna stay out here a while. It's a nice night."

Sam looks at him, doubtfully, but takes a seat on the sun lounger beside him and looks up at the stars. "Huh, figured it would be too bright here to see anything."

"D'ya find her?"

There's a long silence before Sam looks back at him. "Not yet," he says, unwilling to let the hope of getting Dean back to normal die. 

It's hard to hear, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut. "Great. Now what? Huh? Do I...do I join the fuckin' circus?"

Sam huffs out a laugh. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he says. "For now let's just...watch the stars."

Dean casts his eyes skyward and makes a wish.


End file.
